The Future Is Bulletproof
by Windup-Ragdoll
Summary: Party Poision \ OC. They were all trying to hold it together in a world that was falling apart. This was all they had, and it was worth fighting for.


Babygirl Biohazard pushed her hair back with her dirty fingers and allowed it to fall back into her pained face. Grease smeared her sunburned cheeks and forehead as she bent over the engine of the badly treated Trans Am.

"Dammit!" she exploded suddenly, hurling the wrench at the white sand and slamming the hood of the car shut with a bang that ripped through the air of Zone 6.

"Jesus Christ!" Kobra Kid announced, throwing open the door of the run down gas station and stepping out into the bare light of the desert. "What the hell are you doing to that poor car?"

Babygirl tore at her poorly trimmed hair and cut Kobra a look that matched the venom in his name. His yellow bike helmet was curled under his fingers, half cleaned. A dirty spit rag was slung over his shoulder and his dust covered hair was falling out of its neat slick. He looked quite disheveled, even for the proud Killjoy that he was. Of course, Babygirl took no notice of this. She only turned on her heel and stomped past him into the shade of the gas station.

"That piece of shit is un-fixable, I swear to God," she mumbled as she passed. Kobra Kid sighed and shook his head. He knew tension had been high in the small community of renegades ever since Grace had been kidnapped. Babygirl had taken it especially hard, although she would never show it. Even Fun Ghoul couldn't get a wry smile out of her these days. With a quick shake of his head, Kobra approached the Trans Am and opened the hood, peering in at her handiwork.

"Only a missing bolt," he noted to himself.

"Fuck."

Point, fire, miss.

"Dammit!"

Point, fire, miss.

"_Fucking hell!"_

"Babygirl?"

The young woman reeled around, her eyes burning electric and clouded with tears. Her hand was clenched around her raygun with such ferocity that her knuckles had begun to turn white under her leather gloves. Party Poison leaned against the door frame, his stoic face contorted with concern. His eyes swept the small storage room. A row of empty cans was stacked against the wall, unharmed. Holes in the wall were still smoking from their recent encounter with a laser beam and the barrel of Babygirl's raygun was glowing hot. He raised an eyebrow at her very slightly.

"Everything alright?"

"Perfectly safe and shiny, thanks, Party," she spat, turning away from him. She hated the way he always seemed to show up whenever she was about to fall apart. She had made a goddamn _practice_ out of not falling apart. In the background, the small radio hummed out a steady rock n roll beat.

"Jet said I should probably come and check on you," he ventured after a moment. "Everyone's been worried about you, you know."

"Well they don't fucking need to. I'm fine."

"Obviously. The hatred in your voice is just so reassuring."

"What the hell do you think this is going to accomplish, anyway?" she said coolly. "I didn't invite you inside my head, so get the fuck out of here."

Party Poison shrugged. He was used to her vocal violence, even if it stung.

"You're a terrible shot with that thing," he pointed out unnecessarily before shutting the door.

"More bad news, motor babies. Our favorite folks at the Better Living Corporation have sent out squads of exterminators to clear the radar of our malice making killjoys. Buckle those boots and ready those rayguns, tumbleweeds, it's gonna be quite a clap. As always, you're here with me, Dr. D. Tie your masks tight, and keep safe out there, bunnies."

Static flitted through the radio again, leaving the killjoys huddled around it with nothing more than a bad knot in the pit of their stomachs.

"Jesus," Jet Star croaked, "Can it get any worse?"

"Yeah, of course it can," Fun Ghoul said, lighting a cigarette and letting the smoke curl into Jet Star's face. "Where have you been the last twenty years?"

"Fuck you," Jet Star said, but he was smiling. Sometimes he wondered what they would do without their chainsmoking comic relief in the green mask. Fun Ghoul tipped his chair back onto two legs and blew a series of smoke rings at the cracked plaster ceiling. Slowly, he said, "I wonder what it would've been like. If Better Living hadn't smothered the life out of this place."

"Well, for starters, we wouldn't have to live here," Kobra Kid stated.

"What's wrong with living here, Kobra? Not good enough for you?" Fun Ghoul snapped suddenly. He let his chair fall back onto all fours with a crash. "It may not have occurred to you, fuck head, but this is all we've got."

"Easy, Ghoul, you brought it up."

"Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!"

"What did you just say to me?" Kobra hissed.

"You heard me."

They were in each others' faces now, their shoulder's squared and jaws set. And then, gently, a pair of hands was pushing them apart. Babygirl stood in between them, her dark eyes flitting between the two of them. She didn't even have to say a word before the two were pulling her into a tight, one armed hug.

"Sometimes I think you're the only hope for us, Babygirl," Fun Ghoul said quietly, mashing his cigarette out on the floor. "Hey, where's Party?"

"Maybe he made a break for it when you two were having your cute little fight," Jet Star offered. Both men responded with raised middle fingers and a chorus of affectionate jeers.

"Let Babygirl look for him," Fun Ghoul said. "She's the one who levels our heads around here."

The young killjoy nodded and grabbed her mask from the toolbox. "Just in case," she told them.

"Everyday out here is 'just in case', sweetheart," Kobra Kid told her on her way out the door.

It didn't take her long to find the missing member. He was seated on a series of dunes about a mile from the gas station, his mascot resembling headwear set down next to him. Babygirl stormed up to him, fuming.

"Are you fucking insane? Better Living's got squads all over the Zones! Do you really think Grace would want you to wind up d—'' she stopped short, her words catching in her dry throat. Party Poison cut his eyes at her acidly.

"I can take care of myself."

"No, you can't. Nothing's safe out here anymore, haven't you got that? You think nearly dying everyday would bore that into your head. You aren't bulletproof, Party, no matter what you think."

"Too bad nobody uses bullets anymore," he whispered, letting his head fall into his hands. "It's my fault she's gone. It's all my fault..."

Babygirl positioned herself in front of him on her knees, staring at the top of his head so intensely that she was sure he could feel it. She let her forehead rest on his shock of red hair and placed her hands on either side of his face.

"We were outnumbered," she reminded him softly. "There's no way we could've taken them all."

He lifted his head, his eyes blazing into hers. The sun was going down behind them, spelling out danger. He knew they had to get back soon, or risk getting locked out and stranded in the Zones again. They had only been staying in that station for three days, and they would have to relocate soon. Sometimes he got so tired of running.

"We're going to save her, Party Poison. If it takes my last goddamn breath, we're going to save her," Babygirl told him in his ear. She was crying now. Tears spilled down her dirty face and fell to the thirsty earth. They pooled in her protruding collar bone and dappled her shirt with misery. He kissed her then, very quickly and very heavily, nearly knocking her backward. Her hands knotted in his hair, but he pushed her away.

"This isn't the time. It's getting dark. We have to go back," he told her, resting his palm on her back. She nodded, fiercely wiping the tears from her face. They stood together and began to run down the dune, masks on. Babygirl knew that there would never be time for a relationship in this kind of life. There was barely time for sleep between all the running and fighting and killing and hiding, let alone having someone else to look out for. In this time, in this life, there was only the seconds you had right now and the few you might have in front of you. There wasn't room for anything else, no matter how badly she wanted there to be.

His hand was in hers then, squeezing tightly. They may not live tomorrow, or days from now. This could be the last ride they took, the last words they spoke. But she had him now, and she had the others, and they had her. And if she had to die with her mask on, then she would. She would die on her feet fighting, even if this was all she had to defend.

**A\N: Okay, yes, it's not my best work. I haven't written in ages, but I had to post this for my fabulous killjoy. (: Stay safe and shiny out there, killjoys. It's a mad world we live in. **


End file.
